


An Excellent Plan

by Echo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22274356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echo/pseuds/Echo
Summary: Going undercover was part of the plan. Beating up on his boyfriend was very much not part of the plan.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 8
Kudos: 166
Collections: Rupert Graves 56th Birthday Collection





	An Excellent Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [n_a](https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_a/gifts).



> For the very patient n_a, who requested 'undercover Greg being forced to hurt a kidnapped Mycroft, in order to prevent something worse'. That request was all the way back in July. _Very patient!_

The second thought Greg had, after the bag was removed from their prisoner's head, was that he was going to kill Sherlock Holmes.

His first thought had been somewhat less articulate, and quite a bit more profane.

The prisoner in question was supposed to have been Sherlock. That had been the plan. The very carefully thought through plan, which had been discussed in excruciating detail and agreed to by all parties.

It had been an excellent plan.

This was not the plan. Because the prisoner has not Sherlock Holmes.

"He don't look like in the picture, you sure we got the right guy?" Greg said, careful to keep his cover intact even as his mind whirled through the possibilities.

Could it be that the plan had needed to be changed? This didn't seem like the sort of change that the rest of his team would have approved, especially without giving him some kind of forewarning. But Sherlock had always been an unpredictable entity, perhaps he had thought...

The burlier of the two kidnappers shrugged, picking something out of his teeth. Greg tamped down on his own irritation. He already knew that those two were the kind of stupid that gave idiot henchmen a bad name, but his persona wasn't supposed to be much better.

Greg drew a small flick knife from his pocket, slipping it under the fabric of the gag and cutting it clean. Their prisoner barely flinched, taking a moment to roll his jaw. Greg hoped that the others took that as bravado, rather than a trust born of familiarity. 

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. My name is Mycroft Holmes. I wonder if you might, perhaps, have been looking for my brother?"

\----

"Picked him up where we got told to, right time and everything," the idiot kidnapper argued in a stage whisper, "not my problem if the instructions were wrong."

Their collective boss, who was rather more intelligent than the thugs he hired, did not appear to agree. He paced back and forth for a moment, before stopping and looking thoughtfully at Mycroft, still tied to a chair, sitting patiently.

"The brother, you said?"

The thug nodded. The boss turned to Greg, having apparently made a decision.

"Rough him up a bit. We'll send Sherlock a couple pictures. Maybe family ties will bring him in."

Greg's brain went into overdrive. This was very, very far away from the excellent plan that they had put together. This was a Very Bad Plan.

"I dunno, boss," he said, mind racing. "Something not quite right with that one. He's not even acting spooked. Gives me a bad feeling. Maybe we just ditch him now and get out of town?"

The boss turned his thoughtful eye to Greg, then. "Not quite right?" He asked, "How so?"

"Too calm. People who get snatched from the street ain't normally that calm, yeah?"

The boss considered this new perspective. "Perhaps he simply does not grasp his situation?"

Thinking for a moment that he might have found an in, Greg went to argue further, only to be interrupted.

" _Perhaps_ ," the man emphasised, "you should give him a demonstration? Help to clarify his situation." The pointed look quelled any thoughts Greg might have had about arguing further.

Greg hoped that the eye contact he was able to make just before his fist connected with Mycroft's jaw was enough to express his regret over the action.

\----

His knuckles hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to how the rest of him was feeling.

He was not inexperienced when it came to hitting people. His early years, before joining the police force, could generously be described as 'colourful'. He knew which bits to hit for a bloody show, and which to inflict maximum pain. He also knew, in principle, how to pull a punch.

He was pretty sure his boss knew too. He was the sort of man who could tell the difference between real violence and violence for show. And without a better idea of what the hell was actually going on right now, Greg didn't want to risk a mistake.

So his blows made real contact more often than not. He avoided major organs as best he could, and went for the kind of damage that looked impressive but wouldn't do any serious harm.

Mycroft took it all, calm and brave and stoic.

Greg felt like absolute shit the entire time.

\----

"You'd better not go claiming that this was part of the plan all along." Greg accused, as the various emergency services lights flickered blue across Mycroft's face, highlighting the numerous bruises and cuts that decorated it.

"You have my word, Greg. If I'd had any say in the matter, I assure you I would not have come out of it quite so thoroughly decorated."

Greg felt sick. It must have shown on his face, because Mycroft reached for his hand, pressing it between the two of his own.

"Oh, my dear, please do not be distressed. I was able to deduce what had happened quite quickly, I was never under any illusion that you personally wished me harm."

Greg flopped himself down next to Mycroft, hunching over a bit more than was strictly necessary. He was exhausted and emotional, and he didn't need Mycroft reading in his face exactly how wrecked he felt. Not that Mycroft needed to see his face to figure that one out.

"If anyone is to be held accountable for this unfortunate mess, it is Sherlock. I'm quite certain he orchestrated the whole affair. Were he not my brother, I would arrange to have him quietly taken care of."

Greg gave him a sidelong look.

"Fortunately for him, he _is_ my brother," Mycroft added, a small crinkle around his eyes the only sign that he was being anything less that completely matter of fact, "but my point is that you have nothing to apologise for. Any harm which befell me was entirely of Sherlock's making, not yours."

Greg's eyes made it completely clear what he thought of that assessment. "Funny," he replied, straightening up, "because that split lip looks like it was entirely the making of my fist."

Mycroft's hand went unconsciously to hover just over the spot of dried blood that Greg was referring to. "Well yes, I suppose that's technically true." He looked briefly chastised, but then that subversive crinkle came back to his eye, bringing with it a companion sparkle. "Perhaps you ought to kiss it better?"

Greg blinked slowly, as his tired brain trying to parse and reparse that suggestion into something more sensible. "You're not serious?" he settled on, eventually.

"Of course I am," Mycroft smirked, "you do want it do get better, don't you?"

Greg made an inarticulate noise of exhausted, despairing amusement, but leaned forward to very gently press his lips to the damaged spot on Mycroft's own. He pulled away just in time to see the expression on Mycroft's face.

He looked very much like someone who had just sucked a lemon.

"Stings, huh?" Greg asked, trying to refrain from laughing.

Mycroft probed briefly at the sore spot with the tip of his tongue. "More than I had anticipated, yes."

Greg nodded, half in sympathy and half in amusement. He leaned in again, this time pressing a kiss on Mycroft's mostly unblemished forehead. "Have they cleared you to leave?"

Mycroft nodded. "They told me I have a minor concussion, but nothing which requires hospitalization."

"Good. Then let's get you home. Take a nice warm bath, cup of tea, and then we'll discuss how Sherlock is going to make this up to the both of us."

Mycroft nodded his agreement. "Of course, Greg. An excellent plan."


End file.
